


Un-Bell the Cat

by Amand_r



Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M, porn battle challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-07
Updated: 2011-04-07
Packaged: 2017-10-17 17:34:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/179385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amand_r/pseuds/Amand_r
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's more than one way to skin a cat.  Owen has told her of at least three.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Un-Bell the Cat

**Author's Note:**

> **Timeline:** Pre S1

He's seen it. The thing she's looking for but cannot find. The snap of everything when it flips over into what is really beyond. She knows he has (he was at Canary Wharf), but she can't ask him, not like this, not when he has fifteen layers of clothing in addition to his fifteen layers of repression and hiding and secrets.

There's more than one way to skin a cat. Owen has told her of at least three.

She finds him in the small kitchenette, where he's been making the coffees for them since he arrived a month ago. His fingers are long and tapered. She wonders just what they might be guilty of.

"Torchwood One," she says, pressing her hand on his shoulder – _I'm a friend, I'm a friend_ —"What was it like?"

Ianto's eyes widen at her hand, but he doesn't shrug it off. "Crowded, busy." He glances away. "Cleaner."

"Mmmm," she says noncommittally. One of her fingers dips into the empty chest pocket of his jacket. "You need a handkerchief, Ianto." And then her eyes flit to his and she smiles. He returns it, weak.

***

Ianto's eyes hide something. Canary Wharf. No no, something more. Abusive father? Molesting mother? A sister dying of scarlet fever? A dead girlfriend, surely, Suzie knows about that. No, there is more. More there.

"It must be hard," she says days later when he hands her the coffee, "being here. Working for the organisation that nearly killed you."

"Oh, I don't know." Ianto stops then, his back to her, and his head turns minutely. "Yesterday saw you almost impaled on a radioactive spike, and yet," he says, gesturing to her and her coffee.

Witty witty boy. She reaches out with one hand and grazes his suit pocket, the front ones this time, slipping her fingers up under the flap and sliding them in, the lining cool to the touch for all that it is right next to his body. His eyes close.

"You're right." She flattens her hand in the pocket and presses it against the flesh that is under all those layers. Ianto's belt at her wrist, his hip bone hard and ungiving under her fingertips. Yum. "I guess we all just keep coming back."

Ianto nods at her when she removes her hand. "Addicted to the rush, I suppose."

***

She tries to prise it out of him like so much pulp, but he's a fucking tease. Ianto has graduated from leading questions to more generous touches, and then, once, a sympathetic hug in which Suzie could grope his arse, feel his hard-on against her skirt as her breasts pressed into his chest.

Ah.

"Your girlfriend," she says, "I never told you that I was sorry for your loss." See what he thinks of _that_.

Ianto leans back against the edge of the counter up in the slowly-evolving-and-becoming-someplace-decent tourist centre. "Ah, well, yes." He says, and then, quickly, "Thank you."

Suzie enters his space, slowly, like one would approach an animal. Ianto's smile is mild and plastered on. Another fucking layer. Suzie wants. She wants from him.

She wants to slip her hands under the jacket, and in the second that she thinks of it, he lets her, and her fingers move against the pale heat of his shirt, inside the dark, under the fabric of the coat. She presses her forehead to his tie and licks it a little, tongue darting out to taste the silk, leaving a little mark, a little of herself on his immaculate layers.

Ianto's hands reach out for her, probably to push her away, but she scrapes his cock through his trousers first, and he freezes in mid-action. His hands tremble against her shoulders; perhaps he thinks that if he stays quite still, then she won't see him. Too late.

"I never lost anyone that close to me," she lies, rubbing her cheek on the material of his shirt, nipping at the lapels of his jacket with her teeth, and she's rewarded when his hands squeeze her shoulders and round her back to pull her in. Her hand goes vertical, palming his cock; his answering thrust is minute, obviously repressed.

"Well, I…" Ianto starts to say, but it's a whisper and he's drifted off. One of his hands gropes for her breasts, and she is suddenly reminded of fumblings in the backseat of her first bloke's car, back when she had a curfew and a family image to maintain. The very brush of his fingers as they stumble over the cloth of her blouse is a straight throwback to her teenage years.

Suzie doesn't really care about the sex, but she'll use it, because Ianto's going to tell her about how close he came to death, how he got away and how it felt to look into his girl's dead eyes, if he had even seen them. Had the reality been worse? Knowing that her body is gone, pieces on the cutting room floor, the rest of her floating in the Void with the rest of the Cybermen?

She unzips his trousers experimentally, and he doesn't stop her, but his face is turned away when she looks up finally, his eyes closed. Mouth set in a line.

"I'll stop, then," she teases, and his hands just tense before he whips his head back around and kisses her, sloppy, out of practice, who knows, maybe never in practice. Jack will have to give him lessons.

His fingers work under her shirt, looking for a bra that isn't there, genuinely surprised not to find one, as if all his girls in the past have had large breasts, as if her not wearing one tells him something about her character.

Kissing him is like kissing her brother. It's a dare in the middle of the night, while everyone else in bed, and just as useless. She breaks off and pretends to be interested in Ianto's cock. It's, clinically, something worth being interested in. She is sure that Jack will find a use for it someday (in her head she's already paired them up. She should set up a few more camera feeds).

She hadn't intended on letting him come, not until she had got what she wanted, but as she pulls on his foreskin a little, listening to his gasps in her ear, she realizes that he'll never tell her. He can't pull any more of himself off, actually, even if she were to strip him bare and fuck him on the counter here. He probably doesn't even know what it's like to feel cold.

Then, it must be something that she can only find by looking for it herself. Maybe with that glove downstairs. Maybe with Owen in the middle of the night, with the Weevils and the electrodes, while Jack is out patrolling a rooftop.

Suzie falls to her knees and takes him in her mouth; no point in wasting a perfectly good hard-on. And he makes great coffee, and maybe now he'll do her paperwork. Or she could get him to detail her car.

END


End file.
